


in becoming who we are

by groundopenwide



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, OT5 Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is temporarily handicapped, Louis has lost his girlfriend, Liam has lost his mind <i>and</i> his girlfriend, Zayn is supposed to be getting married (eventually), and Harry, for some bloody reason, is still in America.</p><p>Change is in the air and 2014 isn't exactly looking up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in becoming who we are

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively known as my “what the fuck happened in January?” fic. This is my first attempt at writing anything 1D related, and I began this with the idea of following the timeline for the month, after the whole Liam/twitter fiasco and the speculation with the 5sos keek, but it really got away from me. In other words, I’ve still taken great liberties with the boys’ whereabouts. Pretend they really do like London enough to spend this much time there and just roll with it, okay?
> 
> Also, I am definitely not British, and this is definitely not britpicked, nor has it been beta’ed. Forgive me.

**January 17th, 2014**

"Bloody hell," Niall says.

He grapples at the armrest to the sofa until his back is somewhat straight and he can reach ineffectually towards where the telly remote sits, two cushions down. Just as his fingertips brush plastic, his knee twists uncomfortably and he practically howls, returning to his slouch in resignation.

It's 2014. He shouldn't have to physically _pick up_ an object in order to change the channel.

"Shoulda bought myself an X-Box One for Christmas. Don't they function on voice command or summat?" he muses aloud.

The hum that floats over from where Zayn is seated on the ground isn't much of a response, and Niall grumbles to himself, peeking down at the spread of color palettes that his bandmate is currently poring over.

"Hate to break it to ya, mate, but 'm pretty sure those are all the exact same shade of white."

Another hum.

"I know," Zayn mumbles at last, his eyebrows still furrowed as he touches his index finger to one of the sheets of cardstock. "But Perrie insists that I pick one to match the lavender, and if I choose the wrong one, she'll have a right panic attack."

"Lavender?" Niall echoes, scratching idly at his stomach. "The wedding'll match her hair, then."

A wadded-up color sample hits him square in the chest. _Meringue,_ it's labeled. "Wanker," Zayn mutters, though there's no heat to it, and Niall just grins at him, wide-toothed.

"Be a babe and go fetch me the bag of crisps from the counter? I'm starved."

Zayn rolls his eyes, and Niall swears he can almost hear them rattle with the amount they move around in Zayn's skull.

"They put you on bedrest for two days and you're already insufferable," Zayn huffs, but he is already standing up, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms above his head before he makes his way towards the small kitchen in Niall's flat. "You should be the one bringing _me_ crisps, having missed my birthday and all."

Niall doesn't say anything at that, waiting until Zayn returns and plops the bag of crisps down in his lap. It's been a few days since the surgery on his knee, but he only just got back to London a bit over a day ago, and the first thing he did upon his arrival to Heathrow was ring each one of the lads until someone agreed to head over and keep him company for his brief period of being handicapped. Louis hadn't answered, and with Harry still in the States and Liam begging off, that had left him with Zayn.

Not that Niall is complaining. In fact, Zayn's probably his favorite, if he's being perfectly honest; it's just that, with the stress of the engagement, Zayn is a bit preoccupied, and in turn, Niall is bored.

He grins again at Zayn in thanks and impatiently rips into the bag, expecting Zayn to abandon him once more in favor of wedding details. Instead of going back to his color palettes, however, Zayn tosses himself onto the opposite corner of the sofa and groans audibly, scrubbing a palm over the beard that's become a permanent fixture along his jaw during the past few months.

"There's nearly a year 'till the wedding. A year, and I'm already losing brain cells trying to tell the difference between _ricotta_ and _snowy evening_." He frowns, and Niall shovels a handful of crisps into his mouth. "I'm going to lose my mind."

"What's a _ricotta?_ " Niall asks around his food.

"It's a type of cheese," Zayn answers, mimicking Niall's position and propping both his feet up on the table in front of them. "Surely you, of anybody, should know that."

"One part of eating everything is that you never ask _what_ you're eating. If I knew what was in my mouth half the time, there'd be plenty more spitting-out incidents, believe me."

The innuendo isn't lost on either of them, and Zayn snorts.

"What're we doing, Nialler?" he eventually huffs, teeth rolling across his bottom lip in agitation. "We're on a break, _finally,_ and I'm stuck going over color schemes while you're here, totally incapacitated."

Niall shrugs and licks the salt off his thumb before rolling up the now empty bag of crisps and chucking it aside. "Well, we could go get papped twenty stories up on the outside of a building, if you'd like. Or maybe fly out to LA and frolic through the streets with Kim and Kanye?" He waggles his eyebrows at Zayn's unamused look. "Oh, chill, you know I'm just taking the piss. No judgment here. No judgment whatsoever."

A silence settles over them for the slightest moment, until Zayn says, "we're a right bunch of twats, aren't we?"

As if responding to the question on Niall's behalf, Zayn's mobile chimes to life on the coffee table a beat later. Louis' name flashes across the screen, and both of them immediately tense up, the smile dropping off Niall’s face as they glance across the couch at one another. Louis' never been one to keep in contact over breaks, usually distracted by his mum and his sisters and Eleanor, and whenever he does reach out, it's through Harry, and no one else. It's not a big deal at all; Niall understands, what with them living out of each other's pockets more than three hundred days of the year, but it is all the more reason to be concerned. He hates to jump to conclusions, but-

"Hiya, Lou," Zayn is already speaking into the phone, the epitome of casual. "Y'alright?"

Niall can't hear much more than a faint buzzing from this distance, but he does catch the minute tick in Zayn's jaw as he listens to whatever Louis is saying, dark lashes fluttering as he closes his eyes once and then opens them again. He's nodding, but not in an agreeable way. It's a sympathetic gesture, one that Louis can't see, but it's there nonetheless, and it sets Niall's nerves even further on edge.

"'m here with Niall, yeah." Zayn's voice has dipped lower, gone soft in a tone that reminds Niall of a younger Zayn, one without the tattoos and the quiff and who just wanted to _sing,_ popstardom be damned. "We're just chilling, can't get up to much 'till his knee is proper. Maybe you could swing by tomorrow? ...Ah, a match, well, the day after, yeah? It'd be good t'see ya. Give us a ring, maybe we can get Liam, make it a lads night."

Zayn is quiet after that, bidding farewell to Louis after a minute, and he clicks off his mobile with an uncertain curl to his mouth. Niall doesn't like the expression, not one bit.

"He was in Manchester today," Zayn offers carefully. He passes his mobile back and forth between his hands without meeting Niall's questioning look, and Niall's stomach sinks further.

"Visiting El?" he asks quietly.

The discomfort in the room is palpable, neither of them wanting to voice what the other is thinking. Niall is about five seconds from dragging himself to wherever Louis is now, giving sod all about his knee, but Zayn finally catches his eyes, and the sullenness he finds there has him deflating in an instant.

"Things don't look good," Zayn murmurs, and Niall exhales a long breath.

**January 11th, 2014**

Harry isn't sure how long he's been in LA. A week, at least. He was here for New Year's, he thinks. So that makes it two weeks? Not that it really matters, in the end. It could have been less than twenty-four hours; all he knows is that he already misses his mum something fierce, and the lads, too, who are probably on their way to Zayn's birthday party right now, eight hours into the future.

Twenty-one. It scares Harry a bit, realizing that he's the only one left now, hovering in the dead space that is nineteen-almost-twenty. With a startling abruptness, he wishes he were there, in London, probably at the Funky Buddha (that's where Liam had mentioned they'd be having the party, if he remembers correctly), getting pissed with his mates, his _real_ mates, not these American folk who are impossible to decipher 90% of the time.

 _GO HOME HARRY!!_ He's seen the tweets, the hashtags, every glance at his phone screen leaving him a tad more desperate for familiarity than the one before. But he can't go back, not right now; there are too many things waiting for him on the opposite side of the Atlantic Ocean, things that he isn't prepared to deal with quite yet, and they still have a good chunk of break left. Harry is simply biding his time, schmoozing with the big names of California in hopes of them providing him with some sort of distraction.

It isn't working as well as he'd hoped. The morning of Zayn's birthday eve (as Harry's taken to calling it) dawns bright and warm, even the balmy weather of Los Angeles at this time of year making him ache for the dreary overcast mornings back in the UK. He sits up in his hotel bed and sighs, pushing the curls out of his face and snatching up his mobile from where it rests on the bedside table.

He has messages from both Calum and Ashton, and a voicemail from Kendall. He ignores the latter and goes to open the former two, his gaze still fuzzy with sleep.

_WE'RE IN LA!!!! COME TO US!!!!_

_cancel all your plans for tomorrow we're gonna do dumb american stuff_

Harry can't help it; he laughs to himself as he thumbs out a reply, and then goes in search of his pants and a pair of trousers.

_i'm a busy busy man but i guess i could fit you into my schedule. name the time and place_

His cell vibrates with the reply not even a minute later, but Harry pockets the device without so much as a glance. He suddenly feels jittery, brimming with energy; needs to do _something_ , anything to take his mind off of things until tomorrow, when he gets to see Calum and the others and finally has an excuse to ring Zayn back home.

As he thinks, he absently runs the pads of his fingers over the fresh ink on his forearm, wincing as he remembers that the area is still tender. Thick, black lines stare up at him, heavy against his skin, a literal anchor. The _I can't change_ feels like a distant memory, now, and Harry still senses himself drifting, no closer to being secured than he was before. When he'd stepped out of the tattoo parlor, it had seemed like a revelation, but under the harsh light of day, he's come to realize that an anchor with a rope is useless so long as the two aren't tied together.

**January 12th, 2014**

"What in the bloody hell is taking him so long?" Louis demands.

Ashton and Luke shush him almost immediately, and Louis glares. The three of them are crouched behind the sofa, the musty hotel carpet scratching at the soles of Louis' Vans as they await the click of the door that will signal Harry's arrival. Louis doesn't exactly know what he'd been thinking, catching a red eye right after the Rovers match yesterday from Heathrow to LAX- actually, he hadn't been thinking at all. There had just been something unsettling about the thought of attending Zayn's party without all five of them there. He'd known Niall was here in the States for his surgery, and Harry was here also, doing God knows what, and because of that, everything felt...off.

So, he'd somehow slunk his way all the way from London to where the 5 Seconds of Summer lads were staying here in LA without being papped, and now he's about to see Harry for the first time since before Holidays.

It's both a frightening and exciting prospect.

"I haven't even rung Zayn yet," he remembers aloud, and that's when the door swings open.

"Wasn't expecting you boys back so soon," Harry is saying as he, Calum, and Michael stumble their way inside. Louis holds still when Ashton motions for him to wait, and then he and Luke pop out from behind the sofa.

"Harry Styles!" They howl in unison, and then Louis is alone, squatted down as he listens to the sounds of chatter and laughter fill the room. He can hear backslaps being exchanged, the eb and flow of voices rising and falling until Harry pipes up again.

"I don't think I've ever been so pleased to see a friendly face in my life," he admits, and Louis chooses that moment to rise from his hiding place.

"Y'sure about that, Harold?" he asks with far more confidence than he feels. Harry's head whips around, and he blinks once, then again, as though he's just watched Louis come back from the dead.

Louis takes the minute of shock to drink in the sight of Harry; he's tan from the California sun, curls slightly matted with sweat while his sunglasses sit perched on the top of his head. Aside from the darkening of his skin, though, he appears exactly the same, still distinctly _Harry,_ and Louis is surprisingly glad. There hadn't been reason to worry, of course, but for some reason, Louis had; anxious that all of the time in America by himself would have altered Harry somehow.

He drags his eyes over Harry's form again, taking in his rumpled shirt and tight trousers, and then the sinewy muscles of his exposed arms, where his gaze comes to rest on the fresh patch of ink marring the skin just above Harry's wrist.

All too suddenly, the breath seems to be punched out from Louis' lungs.

And Harry still hasn't said anything. He keeps staring, and staring, and Louis thinks, _I shouldn't have come._

But then a pair of all too familiar arms is wrapping around his torso, and he has six-plus feet of _Harry Styles_ clinging to him. Jerking into motion, Louis returns the gesture and holds on just as tightly.

" _Lou,_ " Harry says, and it comes out breathless, a bit manic as he buries his nose against the side of Louis' head. "You absolute tosser. What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be going to Zayn's?"

"So many questions," Louis teases as they separate, and he can feel the grin that's splitting across his face, so wide it must look ridiculous, but he's quite far beyond caring when Harry seems just as glad to see him.

Beside them, Ashton- or Luke, or possibly even Michael, Louis isn't exactly paying attention- clears his throat, and Harry shoots Louis a smile that's almost a tad awkward before he steps further back and visibly regains himself.

"Worried we were about to start snogging?" Harry jokes weakly, and all four of the other boys laugh while all Louis can do is shrug and glance down, looking sheepish.

It's just- Harry. Harry is here.

"We need to call Zayn!" he blurts, searching frantically in his pockets for his mobile. "All of us, right now! We'll serenade him and it'll be lovely."

"And he won't be able to grumble at you with us around," Harry adds knowingly, and Louis sticks his chin out as he dials Zayn's number.

"I have no such intentions. I can handle Zayn's irritation just as much as the next lad. This is simply convenient."

Harry snickers, but doesn't say anything else until Calum and Ashton begin rapping _happy birthday_ into the receiver.

**January 18th, 2014**

Liam is quite plastered.

He's on his fifth- no, sixth?- drink of the night, the music is pounding through every crevice of his body, and still all he wants to do is hurl his mobile at the nearest wall until he never, ever has to read another word written about him again.

It was stupid. The tweet, the accusations, all of it, but he just can't seem to let it go, no matter how much alcohol he gets flowing through his veins. First he'd been lectured about his own safety when they'd caught him standing at the edge of his balcony the night of Zayn's birthday, and now this. If he still had to worry about his kidney, he'd most likely be convulsing on the floor by now. As it is, he is staggering as he shoves his way through the crowd and out the back door of the club, where there is already a car waiting to shield him from the relentless paps.

He takes one disgusted look at his mobile, the numbers _2:07_ flashing up at him, and he quickly realizes that he isn't going to be passing out for the night any time soon. He'd had one goal, and that was to get pissed enough that he couldn't even remember he _had_ a twitter, much less have the urge to check it, and he couldn't even accomplish that. He supposes he could ring Sophia, but they haven't spoken since the basketball game two days before, and she probably has no clue about the ruckus he's created. Even better, she probably wouldn't care much if she did know.

The anger washes over him without warning, and just like that, Liam is livid. He balls his hands into tight fists against his thighs and glares pointedly out the window, hardly blinking as the London nightlife passes him by. The urge to hit something, pound the life out of it until he can't see anything but red is overwhelming, and Liam forces himself to breathe, _breathe_ as the car pulls up to his building. The sight of the paps crowded near the door almost causes him to snap; but somehow, he maintains his cool, focuses on the air heaving into his lungs as he forces his way inside, into blessed silence.

As he steps into his flat, Liam makes a bee-line to where he stores his liquor instead of filling up a glass of water like any sensible person would do. He's wound up so stiffly that he thinks he might crack if he makes the wrong move. It's a strange feeling, almost an out-of-body experience. He feels beside himself, like he isn't _Liam Payne_ anymore, just this detached figment that gets pissed in clubs every other evening and is constantly hounded on by the press, by teenage girls, by _everyone._

It's another hour and a half and two tumblers of whiskey later when he finally stumbles into his bedroom, the clock telling him it's past 4 AM. Liam's still too livid to even thinking about laying down and shutting his eyes, and his alcohol-ridden mind tells him that checking his phone is a smart way to pass the time, conveniently forgetting his reasons for avoiding it a few hours before.

The notifications come through in a tidal wave, and Liam wants to scream.

He scrolls through an endless string of tweets: _I'm so disappointed_ and _can't believe he would be like this_ and, worst of all, _Liam Payne is a homophobe!_ More of the same from when he first started this mess, and it isn't _fair._ Why do they have to jump to conclusions? Why do they assume things when they don't even _know_ him? Hadn't his backtracking earlier done anything to clear up this mess?

He's drunk, and absolutely out of his mind with frustration, but it's still manageable. Perfectly fine.

And then he googles his name, and his eyes zero in on the latest search results.

**January 19th, 2014**

"Oi, what's the deal? I'm coming, I'm coming!"

Niall can only limp so fast as he makes his way towards the door of his flat and yanks it open, prepared to yell at whoever has been making a fuss on the outside. But when he spots Louis, who only spares him a short glance before barreling past him and storming inside, all complaints die on the tip of his tongue.

"Have you lads seen this?" is how Louis greets them, Niall hobbling along after him into the den, where Zayn is sprawled across the couch and flicking through channels on the telly. He straightens up at the sight of Louis and opens his mouth to speak, but his jaw snaps shut as Louis charges onwards. He's waving his mobile in the air so violently that Niall's worried it might go flying. "That stupid, selfish, good-for-nothing prick, what was he _thinking?_ This is the honest to God last thing I need right now-"

"Lou, hold up," Zayn cuts him off, and Louis fumes at him, but falls silent. "What the hell's goin' on?"

"Motherfucking _Liam Payne,_ that's what. How could you two not have heard?" Louis spits.

"Me mobile's been off all morning, and Zayn's is back at his," Niall answers slowly. "Why? What’s happened?"

A moment later, Louis' cell is being thrust in his direction. "Take a look for yourselves," he mumbles ominously.

Niall curls his fingers around the device, trying to quell the trembling in his fingers. Lou has to be taking the piss. Liam's been a bit out of it lately, sure, but he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize himself, or the band-

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Zayn's palm lands roughly on his shoulder, and the two of them share a long look before glancing down at the screen.

_What I gotta do to please you bastards I'm a 20 year old just living life as you did when u where twenty but in extraordinary circumstances_

_Sick of all this bull il be back again when the freedom of speech law is back and people don't believe to much into the bulls#!t they read_

_Pick ur balls up off the floor and get on with it instead of taking advantage of every word said and twisting it for your own gain_

There are so many of them. Niall blinks furiously, thinking maybe he's reading wrong, but the way Zayn's fingers curl around his shoulder tells him that he isn't. And it's more than that- the replies, the mentions from fans, saying _Liam you're drunk what's happened to you_ and _go to bed, you homophobic prick_ and _I'll never be able to look at him the same way again._ The tweets were sent only six hours ago, sometime after five in the morning, and all Niall can think to justify this is that Liam had been drunk.

Drunk, and angry, and tweeting.

Niall wants to throw up.

"Have you talked to him?" Zayn demands suddenly, whirling around and shoving the phone back at Louis, who still stands with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Has anyone talked to him? Where the fuck is management? Why haven't these been deleted?"

"No, I haven't bloody _talked_ to him!" Louis explodes. "I've been a tad busy, trying to recover from breaking up with my _girlfriend_ and all!"

Just like that, he seems to deflate. His arms fall slack at his sides, and he hunches over, shoulders rising until his ears are hardly even visible. Zayn sighs audibly, scrubbing both palms over his face, and all Niall can do is dart his eyes back and forth between the two of them, so completely and utterly out of his depth that he isn't sure what to do with himself.

"I've gotta go check on Li," Zayn says finally, once the quiet threatens to strangle them all. "Niall, stay here with Louis, you two can give Harry a ring-"

"No," Louis interrupts vehemently, shaking his head. "No Harry. I just- it's not a good time. Not now."

Niall shoots a curious look in Louis' direction, but he's already gone back to furiously avoiding both his and Zayn's gaze.

"I'll go to Liam. I know, I know, don't look at me like that, Zayn," Louis continues, mouth twisting into a frown. "But I can't just sit here. I'll go stir crazy. Give me a chance to talk with him, I'll call you up later and let you know whether things are sorted."

The three of them sink into another silence, this one even deeper than before. When Niall can't take it anymore, he clears his throat and knots his fingers together in front of his stomach.

"Nothing's gonna be sorted for a good, long while, 'm afraid.".

Louis shrugs, and his smile is weak, an inhuman curl of his lips. "You're telling me, Nialler."

**January 13th, 2014**

Harry hates the way his voice falters when he says, "you're leaving already?"

Louis at least seems apologetic. "You could always come back too, y'know," he offers.

They're standing in Harry's hotel room, and Louis already has his bag slung over his shoulder, cap pulled down low over his face. It's not even full morning yet, the darkness wrapped around Los Angeles like a cloak, and Harry hasn't got on anything more than his pants, his hair sleep rumpled and a crease from his pillow no doubt staining his cheek. He'd jerked awake as soon as he'd heard the creak of the couch bed being folded back up, the rustle of Louis shoving his belongings away drawing him out of sleep and into a state of uneasiness. Not even a year ago, they would have been sharing a bed, and Harry would have felt the shift of the mattress, the way Louis' fingers brushed over his jaw as he whispered the words _I'm sorry,_ over and over again.

"I'm sorry," Louis adds, echoing Harry's thoughts. "I have to."

 _I have to go show my face in the UK,_ he is saying. _I have to keep up appearances._

And things have changed, maybe, but so much of it is still the same. Like a broken record stuck on a constant loop.

"Well," he clears his throat. "Suppose I'll see you in a couple 'a weeks, then."

Louis' face falls, if at all possible, considering his expression hadn't been very bright to begin with. "Haz-"

"Don't call me that," Harry snaps, and Louis flinches.

"You don't think I noticed the tat?" Now it's Harry's turn to cower backwards, his hackles rising. "What're you doing, Harry?"

The tension between them could be sliced with a knife, and Harry can't breathe.

"Waiting for you to leave," he manages. _Like you always do._ And all at once, Louis' features shutter closed, and anything good that had come out of the previous eighteen hours has evaporated. He scowls and shoves his hands into his pockets before moving to step around Harry, already on his way to the door.

"You're the one hiding out here, so don't accuse _me_ of being the twat," he calls over his shoulder. "I'll see you in February."

The door slams so hard that Harry can feel the walls around him rattle, as though an earthquake has just struck the ground beneath the hotel. He thinks that if the world around him were to crumble, he wouldn't mind at this point.

**January 19th, 2014**

It's cold in his flat. Curling his socked feet into the rug beneath him, Liam pads over to the windows that span the left wall of the den and leans his forehead against the glass. The view isn't too bad; it may not be prime London scenery, but it's nice, the rows of houses and the park a few streets over being visible from here. He exhales, and his breath fogs up the glass as he closes his eyes and attempts to ignore the pounding at his door in favor of the headache pounding through every inch of his skull.

"If you don't open this door, I'm calling Paul so he can break it down for me," Louis shouts.

Normally, Liam would take the threat more seriously, but today is a far cry from normal. "Get lost, Tommo!"

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me, you abominable _oaf!_ " There is more pounding, until a second later, it cuts off, and there is a lone _thump_ against the door. Liam can practically see Louis collapsed against his front door, his weight sagging as all the fight drains out of him. Sure enough, his voice filters through the walls again a beat later, more yielding this time. "Please, Li. I've had a shit few days too. I just wanna talk."

And really, how can Liam say no to that? It isn't often that Louis exposes his more vulnerable side. In fact, he doesn't expose it ever, and most definitely not in broad daylight, when anyone walking by could witness it. Liam is hit with the distinct sense that something is seriously wrong; that when Louis says he's had a 'shit few days,' he isn't just taking the piss in order to get Liam to open the door.

"Louis," he begins as soon as he has the door open, but he's instantly overrun by skinny limbs and a compact body as Louis winds himself around Liam like an octopus.

"Oh, thank fuck. For a minute there I thought you were really going to leave me out in the hall," Louis is saying, and Liam lets out a small laugh, half of it getting caught in his throat as Louis pulls back and fixes him with an imploring stare. He can't help but fidget beneath the searching look. No doubt Louis' heard about his outburst from the night before and that's why he's here, but Liam doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't think he can talk about it, in all honesty. He's exhausted and just wants to sleep off all the shame and anger and confusion.

"Thought you were in Manchester with El?" Liam questions as they shuffle their way into the kitchen, where he fills the kettle with water for tea and sets it to boil. Louis has gone unusually quiet across from him, and when Liam glances up from fetching two mugs out of the cupboard, he catches the hint of melancholy that flits across Louis' face. Liam swallows. "Oh."

"Like I said, it's been a shit few days, mate."

They glance at each other for a long moment, until Liam can't hold Louis' eyes any longer. "I've made it worse, haven't I?"

The guilt rams into him swiftly, and in the space of a few words, Liam becomes aware of just how enormous a mess he's made. Christ, Louis isn't even _looking_ at him, and Liam can automatically sense the pity, mixed with a kind of disappointment. Liam suddenly feels like he's suffocating in it. It ultimately hadn't mattered, him supposedly disappointing the fans, the public, because their opinions weren't the ones he took as much to heart. But disappointing the band, his _best mates_ -

Liam almost wishes he _had_ slipped off the edge of the balcony a few nights before, what seems like a lifetime ago.

"You've got that look, Payne-o. The one that makes it seem like I've just run over your puppy," Louis says softly. Liam snorts, but ends up practically choking himself in the process, and then the sob that has been mangling its way up his throat for the past few hours finally escapes him.

"I've done fucked up, Lou," Liam wheezes, right before he starts to cry.

Louis looks as though he's about to make some motion of comfort, but Liam's mobile decides to ring then. His vision blurring with tears doesn't stop him from catching sight of Sophia's name on the screen as Louis moves to switch the device off. He needs to talk to her, he knows, but he doesn't know what to say. What can he even say? To _anyone?_

Louis shoos him away to the couch while the kettle begins to whistle, the moisture still streaking down Liam's cheeks. "I'll manage the tea, mate. Go on," he waves his hand and turns to the stove, and Liam has never wanted to hug someone so much in his entire life. Louis may be disappointed, and he's probably angry, too, but he's still here, being exactly what Liam needs even when he has his own issues to deal with, and how could Liam have ever done something that might jeopardize this? The band, his relationships with these boys?

"'m sorry, real sorry, Lou, I wasn't-"

"Liam," Louis cuts him off sternly. "Sofa. I'll be there in a mo'."

Dejected, Liam nods and heads into the den, where he picks up the nearest throw and wraps it around his shoulders, cocooning himself. He seats himself in the corner of the sofa, feeling all of ten years old again, when he'd return home from school on a day where the bullying had been particularly bad and curl up as his mum would fret over him and make him cocoa, rubbing a hand soothingly over his back until the hollow ache in his chest had faded.

If anything, the hollowed-out space in his chest feels even worse now than it did back then.

"Tea," Louis announces, and Liam's hands emerge from his blanket shell to grasp the mug that Louis passes him. He manages a weak smile in thanks and takes a sip, the warmth seeping in and soothing the frayed ends of his nerves. Louis waits patiently, still standing as he clutches his own cup, until Liam finishes and places his mug on the table beside the sofa. He takes that as his cue to discard his own cup and settle down next to Liam, pulling him in for a cuddle.

"What're we gonna do with you, Payne-o?" he murmurs, and Liam just makes a pathetic noise as he falls willingly into Louis' chest. It's a bit awkward, what with Liam being bigger than Louis in about every possible way, but they manage it. Liam scrunches himself up under the blanket and rests his head against Louis' shoulder, and Louis scratches idly at the hair on his nape while his breath puffs out across the top of Liam's head.

"Kick me out of the band?" Liam suggests dejectedly, and Louis goes to roughly pinch his side.

"Don't even joke like that," he commands. "There is no band without you. Without any of us. We're five or we're nothing, you know that."

"I'm just makin' everything difficult for you lads," Liam slurs. The fatigue has caught up to him, and he feels heavy-limbed and comfortable with his nose tucked into Louis' neck. "Besides, 's like Haz already left us. Wha's one more?"

"Liam." Louis' voice is almost a growl, rough and unforgiving. "Quit it."

The obvious irritation in Louis' tone has Liam immediately feeling like even more of a twat, and he sighs meekly, patting lightly at Louis' stomach in what he hopes is a conciliatory gesture. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't...you know I didn't mean it like-"

"We really need to work on that brain-to-mouth filter, don't we?"

Liam opens his eyes and frowns, huffing a bit as he tightens his grip on the throw tucked around his shoulders. "More like brain-to-keyboard. I just wanted to show I was a fan of Duck Dynasty. Why aren't I even allowed to do that?"

He relaxes again when he feels Louis' fingers in his hair, eyes slipping back shut. "Let it go for now, Liam," Louis whispers. "Just let it go."

**January 17th, 2014**

The trip from Manchester back to Doncaster feels ages longer than usual. Louis almost veers north at one point to head towards Bradford, until he remembers that Zayn is in London, probably with Niall or Perrie. He contemplates it for a moment, catching the train into the city, but he's got his family to get back to, and plans already made to attend the match tomorrow. Two days- he can wait that much. He can hold himself together for that long, can resist the urge to call Harry up and tell him everything on his own. He doesn't need the other lads keeping tabs on him in order to exercise a bit of self-control, of course he doesn't. He isn't Liam, doesn't need someone to come and physically drag him out of his funk after a break-up.

The phrase itches at the back of his mind. _Break-up._ Louis doesn't know why it hurts as much as it does. It's been a long time coming, like the loose knot that's been keeping he and Eleanor together all this time has simply untied at last, barely holding on as it was. But his insides still feel scraped raw, like he doesn't know how to be without her. He'd done it physically, for months at a time, sure, but this is different.

This is real.

He rings Zayn. It's instinctual, and when the other lad picks up and greets him in a way that's just _Zayn,_ pure and unadulterated, Louis can feel the pain in his chest blossoming outwards until it's as though he might explode from the force of it.

 _Maybe you could swing by tomorrow,_ and they want him there, Zayn and Niall, to check up on him and make the hurt fade and Louis loves these boys so, so much.

The section of his heart that had been a swirl of _Eleanor_ for years may be empty now, but at least he has pieces of four others, _NiallZaynLiamHarry,_ enough pieces to cement the cracks and fill in the gap until it's like it never existed in the first place.

**January 20th, 2014**

"I can't, Pezza," Zayn pitches his voice low, mouth brushing against the receiver. "I know it's important. But Liam needs me. The lads need me."

It's the same fight they had five hours ago when he woke up, and fourteen hours before that when he'd been getting ready for bed. And for once, Zayn doesn't know to break the cycle.

"You know I understand your devotion to those boys, Zayn. I understand it better than anyone. But _I_ need you today, just for a couple of hours to go over details," Perrie responds. "Don't make me into the jealous fiancée, that's not what I'm trying to do. Two hours, babe. That's it. Only two hours."

Zayn lifts his head from where he's been chewing on his thumbnail and leans around the wall to glance into Liam's living room, where Liam, Louis, and Niall are all huddled together on the couch, watching _Doctor Who_ re-runs. Louis had called them after putting Liam to bed the night before, saying, _come tomorrow. He needs a distraction for a little while._

And Liam's wobbly smile when they'd walked in carrying breakfast takeaway had slithered into the crevices of Zayn's being, settling there and calming him from the inside out.

As if he can tell Zayn is thinking about him, Liam looks over then. His eyes are bloodshot, shadowed by two dark circles that contrast with the suddenly pale shade of his skin, but he at least seems relaxed, now, having buried his apologies and insecurities at Niall's giant bear hug and _you're an arsehole but we love you anyway._ He raises an inquiring eyebrow as Zayn meets his gaze and pats the empty space beside him on the sofa, and it isn't much of a question.

"Tomorrow, love. You can have me for all of tomorrow, okay?"

The lack of a reply from the other end of the line is more gutting than any words could have been. At last, Perrie says, "you spend ten months out of the year with them, Zayn. All I wanted was a few hours."

The sound of the dial tone pierces through him like a knife.

**January 21st, 2014**

_Liam's lost it, Niall's handicapped, Louis' probably broken up with his girlfriend, and where's Harry? Still in America! Doesn't he care about them at all??_

The man seated at the table next to him gives Harry a strange look when he makes a noise of frustration and drops his phone onto the table, but Harry ignores it. It's been three days since Liam completely blew up twitter, and all he's received was one vague text from Niall: _w/ liam everythings good some of tweets deleted but nothing from mgmt !!_ Harry still wants to hop on the next possible flight back to Heathrow so that he can see for himself whether things are really 'alright,' but instead he's stuck in LA, waiting in another nameless restaurant for Kendall, who's running twenty minutes late, as is normal.

He'd tried calling Louis yesterday morning only to have his efforts go unrewarded. It's a bit weird, not having heard from Louis since he left LA a week ago. Harry hadn't thought their fight was that huge, but apparently it had been, if Louis' radio silence is anything to go by. It also makes Harry wonder if there's any truth to the break-up rumors going around, and if there is, then why hasn't Louis told him? Or Niall, or Zayn? It's like his tether to life across the Atlantic has been severed, and he's been left in the States to drown. Harry doesn't like how scarily accurate the analogy is.

When Kendall finally arrives, Harry is shooting off a message to Grimmy: _please tell me you still love me at least :(_ He looks up as Kendall approaches, her face schooled into her usual bored expression, and only pockets his phone after receiving Nick's reply.

_everyone loves you, popstar! you are the wonderful harry styles after all_

It doesn't make him feel any better.

"I have some people that want to meet with you," Kendall greets him, and Harry pauses with his menu halfway open.

"People?"

"Important people. Record execs that my father knows." She pushes her hair back over her shoulder and rolls her eyes, wrinkling her nose at the bottle of water that's already been delivered to their table. "Is this still? I was hoping for sparkling."

Harry ignores her and goes back to his menu, rolling the first part of Kendall's comment around in his mind. "Why would they want to meet with me?"

"Looking to draw you away from your boyband, probably," she replies, examining her nails before moving to pick up her own menu. "They'll talk about your 'untapped potential' or something."

Harry's stomach plummets. It's exactly what's he's been expecting and dreading to hear at the same time.

 _LA will get you connections,_ management had told him, during an appointment right back when break had started. _Connections will take you places._

The thing is, Harry doesn't _want_ to go places. He's perfectly content where he is, with his four best mates in an admittedly cliché boyband. Yet the pressure is unrelenting. He has people coming at him from every angle- _you're better than this, you could be even bigger, they're going to bring you down_ \- and Harry knows, deep down, that none of it's true, but he can't figure out how else to get everyone to leave him alone. It's give in, or refuse until they break him, and he isn't sure which would hurt worse.

**January 18th, 2014**

Louis is getting ready for bed, needing to be up early to catch the train to London in the morning, when a post in his twitter mentions catches his eye.

_THEY'RE MAPPING OUT THE LYRICS TO 'STRONG' WITH THEIR TATTOOS I DON'T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THIS_

Attached is a picture of Harry, and on it is a red circle, signaling another addition to his growing collection of tattoos. It's a book, right where Louis knows Harry's _things I can't_ tattoo should be, and it's so bloody far from subtle that Louis wants to throw something. He's lost Eleanor, the pain still fresh and sharp, while in the meantime, Harry is a beacon shining bright and relentless from across the ocean, and Louis shouldn't still be dealing with this tug-of-war. He'd thought they'd declared an armistice, but he should have known better. Louis hasn't reached out to Harry since he left Los Angeles, and this is Harry retaliating, drawing his attention back in.

What are they even doing anymore?

Opening a new text message, Louis types out a simple _fuck you_. He ends up saving it to his drafts an hour later, once his eyelids have grown heavy and all of the anger has left him. It doesn't matter. He shouldn't care. Tomorrow, he'll be with the lads, and everything will be fine. Really.

**January 22nd, 2014**

Louis' gone back to Doncaster, leaving Liam with a bone-crushing hug and a quiet _hang in there, Li_ that's followed by the light brush of lips over his temple. Zayn's been with Perrie since yesterday, engagement struggles or summat, and Niall's finally returned to his own flat after Liam's repeated assurances that _yes, he'd be fine_ and _no, he wasn't going to log in to twitter_ and _yes, he'd call if management tried to contact him at all._

In truth, though, after forty-eight hours of being surrounded by company, Liam is devastatingly lonely.

He has three missed calls and one text message waiting for him from Sophia, and his mobile is like a leaden weight in his lap as he tries to will himself to ring her back. Liam isn't sure what's happened. For months, it had been absolute bliss- things were so much better than they'd ever been with Danielle, now that Liam knew not to rush into things headfirst, and he loved Sophia, he really did. Even the Holidays had been lovely, time with his family and then hers, matching Christmas jumpers, the whole shebang. He doesn't know what's changed between their multiple dates after Christmas and now, but it's like the New Year has brought a completely new Liam, one that he isn't too fond of.

Instead of dialing his girlfriend, Liam finds himself scrolling through his old photos, and he takes pause when he comes across a particular one. It's he and Harry after a show last summer, high off the adrenaline and with their faces smushed together in one of the bunks of the tour bus. They're both grinning, and with a sudden ferocity, Liam misses that grin. He misses _Harry,_ who hasn't been home for more than three weeks, now. Before he realizes it, Liam is finding Harry's name in his contacts and tapping _call._

"Liam?" Harry breathes, and he sounds shocked, yet so bloody _pleased,_ like it's not arse o'clock in the morning in California. Like he's been waiting on the edge of his chair for Liam to call him (or for any of them to call him, Liam thinks, remembering the cold air that had surrounded Louis when Niall mentioned texting Harry one morning).

"Harry." Liam clears his throat, tries to cool the dimwit smile that crosses his face. " _Hazza._ Y'alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah," Harry repeats, a breathless laugh rattling down the line. "I just- wasn't expecting you t'call."

With a soft hum, Liam curls one leg beneath him. "'S been a bit quiet without you around to pester Tommo, y'know. Just thought I'd give you a ring and check in."

It's silent for a long moment, and Liam wonders if bringing up Louis wasn't the smartest decision after all. But then, "I miss you lot. Christ, I miss you more than I think I've missed my mum the entire past three years."

And Liam knows he's supposed to laugh, he _knows,_ but for some reason, he can't force the noise to come out of his throat. Instead, he says, "then come home."

There's a bit of rustling, and then something that sounds distinctly like a sniffle. When Harry speaks again, his voice is suspiciously thick. "I don't think I can yet, Liam."

Liam's chest twists uncomfortably, and he presses the phone closer to his ear. "Has anyone been talking to you, Haz?"

Harry's quiet serves as confirmation, and Liam's stomach sinks.

"Niall's off his crutches," he blurts. And without giving himself a chance to second-guess things, he launches into a recap of the past three weeks. He talks about Niall's surgery and recovery, and then about Zayn and his wedding anxiety, about Zayn's birthday party and finally about Louis and Eleanor. About how Louis isn't doing well, necessarily, but that he's distracted enough that he's been okay with it all, too busy with the rest of them to focus on his own anguish, like always.

About fifteen minutes into his rambling, Harry interrupts him. "What about you, Li?"

Liam's voice comes to a grinding halt. Carefully, he asks, "what about me?"

"Well," Harry says slowly, "you've told me pretty much everything except how you might be doing, so I thought it proper to ask."

It's been days of nothing _but_ talking about how he's doing, and Liam's a bit sick of it, but- he knows it's only fair to Harry, and that Harry's just concerned, wants to have the firsthand knowledge that Liam really is okay, or at least something close to it.

"Y'know," comes the sound of Harry's voice, before Liam has the opportunity to answer the question, "I've done a fair bit of thinking while I've been over here. Pondering the meaning of life and all that." Liam huffs out a laugh, and Harry continues. "I've spent three weeks, scared to death because everything and everyone seems to be changing, moving along without me. I'll take a superficial glance and then tell myself to relax, because really nothing's changed, but deep down I know that it has."

The breath that Harry sucks in is audible, and Liam has unconsciously gone still as he listens to his bandmate speak. "Things'll keep changing, whether I want them to or not. Life is funny like that; it doesn't really care what you think, does it?" Harry pauses, and Liam imagines him pushing the curls away from his face, a gesture that always occurs when he's nervous. "In the end, though, it isn't even a matter of whether I'm okay with change in the first place. I just have to come to accept the change and have faith that things'll work themselves out. I reckon they generally do."

It doesn't register that Liam is crying until a good minute later, when he realizes his cheeks are wet. He chokes out a disbelieving chuckle and scrubs furiously at his face before saying, "you need to get your arse back over here soon, Styles. We're a mess without you."

Harry doesn't say it, but Liam likes to think he can hear the _I'm a mess without you lads, too._ "Soon. Not yet, but soon. Promise."

**January 20th, 2014**

Niall is half asleep on Liam's shoulder when Zayn says, "'m gonna have to head out for a bit tomorrow."

He's got his still-tetchy knee propped up on Louis' lap and his arm slung over Liam's stomach so than he can reach Zayn, their hands loosely entwined. Louis is curled into Niall's side, who in turn is smushed up against Liam, whose hand has alternated its way between Louis' and Niall's hair all evening. Zayn is on the end, squeezing Niall's hand every once in awhile as he repeatedly noses at the side of Liam's head. None of them mention the Harry-shaped absence that seems to fill half of the room, and instead bury themselves in the comforting tangle of limbs and the episode of _Top Gear_ that's playing on the telly. Zayn's voice almost seems to break some sort of sacred silence, and Niall can feel Liam squirm unhappily at the words.

"Perrie?" he asks, and Niall can't see it, but he assumes Zayn is nodding.

"Wanted me to come today, but I begged off," Zayn explains. He sounds nonchalant, though Niall knows better, tightening his grip on Zayn's palm.

It's silent for a moment, the muted sounds of the telly washing over them. Niall can feel where Zayn's thumb rubs over his knuckles and Louis' elbow digs into side, and there isn't anywhere else he'd rather be.

**January 12th, 2014**

Jet lag is a bitch, Louis thinks. It's hardly ten at night, and his eyelids already feel like heavy sandbags, impossible to keep open. He and Harry are curled up on Harry's hotel bed, watching some American show on Netflix that Harry swears by- _Breaking Bad,_ Louis' pretty sure it's called- and things finally feel...right. Harry's back rests against the headboard, and Louis has his body halfway across Harry's chest, their legs overlapping with the laptop resting in front of them. It's still a bit unnerving, not being able to touch Harry in all the ways that he wants to anymore, but Louis is used to it by now. Mostly. It's been long enough that he almost can't recall how Harry's hands would wrap around his own, how soft Harry's skin was beneath his fingertips, how reverently Harry spoke his name-

Louis clears his throat and does his best to shift away slightly without Harry noticing. "God, I'm knackered. Think I'm gonna turn in," he mumbles, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress in an attempt to stand.

The pressure of Harry's fingers around his wrist has him stopping, and Louis glances back over his shoulder to find his bandmate looking adorably confused. Something inside of Louis' chest clenches. "Where're you going?"

And this, this is something Louis can't do right now. He keeps his voice as casual as possible as he answers, "pull-out. Surely your suite has one of those?"

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but something in Louis' tone must convince him otherwise. He drops both Louis' wrist and his own head at the same time in resignation. "Right, yeah, 'course. Let me fetch the blankets."

Louis watches him go, furiously stomping down on the pang that nudges against his ribcage before heading out to the couch. He's just pulled off the cushions and is unfolding the bed when Harry returns, sheets and pillows in hand. They stare at each other for a long moment, Harry's eyes wide with sadness and desperation, and Louis knows that his expression must mirror something similar. For a split second, he thinks that Harry might close the distance between them, damn it all, but the moment slips out from between their fingers a beat later. Harry silently sets the pile of blankets down on the rickety sofa bed and then steps back, pushing the hair out of his eyes in his signature nervous gesture. "Um, there. I'm just gonna...turn in, I s'pose. Sleep tight, Lou."

Unable to think of a single thing to say, Louis again gazes after Harry's retreating form, feeling lost and a bit hopeless. He isn't expecting it, but he also isn't expecting Harry to stick his head back into the room a minute later, his face set decisively as if he's suddenly schooled up the nerve to do something rash.

"'m real glad you came," he says in a rush, and the breath sticks in Louis' throat. Were it any other time, he'd probably make some stupid joke about The Wanted, but this is _Harry,_ and Louis doesn't know how to act around him anymore.

"Me, too," is the response he settles on. Harry's mouth quirks up at that, his eyes going all soft and fond just for _Louis,_ and Louis knows it was the right thing to say. Anything else would have been a lie, anyway.

**January 23rd, 2014**

"We're throwing Harry a birthday party," Liam informs him.

Zayn hardly has one foot through the door of Niall's flat, his arms weighed down by sample wedding invitations and cake catalogs and his brain overrun by the sound of Perrie's voice, the words _it isn't healthy, Zayn_ cycling through over and over. He hasn't had a fag since this morning, and all he wants to do is have a smoke and then collapse onto Niall's sofa until he passes out from exhaustion.

But Niall and Liam are seated at the kitchen table, Liam looking enthusiastic about something for the first time in days, and Zayn can't do anything but indulge him. He drops all of his things by the door and then wanders over, planting a messy kiss to the top of Liam's head and ruffling Niall's hair before dropping into an empty chair, his head resting against the cool wood of the table.

"Y'sure he'll be around for that?" Zayn asks.

Niall shoots him a sharp look, but Liam isn't phased. "Yes," he says confidently. "But if he isn't, then we'll go to him. I'm not budging on this. Harry needs us, mate."

Zayn wants to grumble and say, _if he really needed us he wouldn't have abandoned us for America,_ but wisely decides to keep his mouth shut. He folds his hands beneath his chin and simply listens as Liam and Niall discuss logistics, things like venue and food and guest list, all of it blending together until it just sounds like more wedding details melting the inside of Zayn's cranium.

"How 'bout just us lads?" he suggests, lifting his head until he's on the proper level to look at both of them. Niall blinks, Liam's expression remaining neutral, and Zayn continues. "We can- I dunno, stay in, have a few drinks and some grub, and we'll buy Harry some kickarse presents to open before we play a couple 'a rounds of FIFA. I'm gettin' the impression that our 'life of the party' Hazza wouldn't mind spending a night in for once."

Liam actually appears to be considering it. He's got his thinking face on, the one where his eyebrows lower and his nose gets all scrunched up, and Zayn has the abrupt urge to reach over and smooth out the lines that form on Liam's forehead. Meanwhile Niall is basically an unrelated third party at this point, shrugging and pulling his mobile out of his pocket to distract himself. Zayn still kicks him under the table, taking great satisfaction in the way Niall winces and mutters _wanker_ before returning his attention to whoever he's messaging (twitter, probably, some poorly composed tweet about how Zayn secretly hates him and is plotting his very demise).

"...d'ya think Lou will come?" Liam voices finally.

"We'll make him come," Niall grumbles, and Zayn nods.

"It's Harry's birthday, of course he'll come."

Liam still looks skeptical, but he agrees anyway, wadding up the sheet of paper in front of him and pushing it off to the side before clapping his hands together. "Right, so," he announces, "kickarse presents. Got any ideas?'

**January 22nd, 2014**

After he gets off the phone with Liam, Harry quickly realizes that any attempts to fall back asleep would be futile. He flops back against the pillows in a starfished position and merely stares up at the ceiling, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. There's still a mountain of things he has to deal with, Harry knows, but what had seemed hugely imposing before now at least seems a bit more manageable. Liam had called _him._ Not the other way around. The memory drags forth a giddy feeling in his stomach, and Harry breathes out evenly. He thinks about what he's told Liam: _things'll work themselves out._

And more importantly, _soon._

The distance between here and home is shrinking, finally starting to shrivel up enough that he can see the finish line on the horizon, and Harry is nearly ready to make the leap.

His thoughts are enough to keep him awake until the sunlight is peeking in through the hotel curtains, and he's just about to climb out of bed and begin his day when his mobile rings. He doesn't bother to check the caller ID, swiping his finger across the screen and bringing the device to his ear. "Hullo?"

"Those people I told you about yesterday have scheduled a meeting for you. Eleven o'clock," Kendall greets him.

It's as though she's just socked him in the gut, his good mood dissipating instantly. In his daze, Harry had almost forgotten about- that. "Already? That was...fast."

Kendall's tone is impatient as she responds, "they want you, Harry. The sooner the better."

Harry swallows. "Right. Um, tell them I'll be there, I s'pose."

"Great."

The dial tone sounds. Harry is about five seconds from calling Liam again, but just like that, a conversation with his bandmate doesn't sound so comforting anymore.

**January 24th, 2014**

When management calls him, Louis answers with the expectation that they'll be ringing to set up a public announcement of some sort, a time for him to break the news to the public that he and Eleanor have split.

What he isn't planning on is the _we need you to keep it up for a few more weeks, Eleanor has already agreed_ and the plane ticket to France that's suddenly sitting in his e-mail inbox.

They can't spare five bloody seconds dealing with Liam's twitter drama, but they have enough time to do _this?_ Louis shuts his laptop violently and clenches his eyes shut, knuckles whitening as his fists clench against his thighs. They want him to fly out tonight, be seen with Eleanor for the weekend, and then bring him back Monday. It's all calculated, precise, and Louis thinks, _it's **my** life, not theirs._

Not that there's much room for discussion. A car is already on its way to his flat, leaving him with about twenty minutes to pack for two nights of frolicking about in the mountains with his ex-girlfriend. Louis is nearly blind with rage as he throws clothes into a suitcase and digs out his heaviest snow jacket. It's luck (or a lack thereof) that he hadn't left it back in Doncaster. He almost wishes he had, just so he'd have a semblance of an excuse to postpone the trip.

His mobile is the last thing he grabs. There's a message from Niall waiting, but Louis doesn't answer it in fear of the lads trying to stop him from going. As much as he isn't looking forward to it, there's isn't a point in resisting anymore.

**January 23rd, 2014**

Zayn and Niall have only been gone for ten minutes when the buzzer goes, and Liam rolls his eyes before heading to answer, figuring one of them must forgotten their mobile or something.

But when he opens the door, it isn't Zayn or Niall waiting for him. It's Sophia.

"Hi," he says weakly.

She's still as gorgeous as ever, long hair tucked behind her ears and skin glowing, and Liam feels nothing. Her arms are folded defensively in front of her chest. "May I?"

Liam steps aside and welcomes her in, his stomach in knots. Sophia, meanwhile, is the posterchild for calm and collected as she quietly unwraps the scarf from around her neck, hanging it on the row of hooks by the door. Next, she slips out of her coat, and Liam is still hovering, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets as he leans against the now-closed door.

"Um," he begins carefully, "alright?"

She glances over at him sharply, and any peaceful expression she'd been sporting before is gone. "Don't ask me that," she snaps, and Liam's mouth runs dry.

Neither of them makes any move to progress further into the flat. Sophia has her eyes narrowed, now, and Liam is all but cowering in front of her, eyes glued to the floor. He knows that this is the part where he's supposed to apologize and beg for forgiveness like they do in films; reckless and pleading, practically groveling at the woman's feet until they inevitably take the bloke back. But Liam, for all the remorse he's expressed over the past few days, can't seem to get the world _sorry_ to form on his tongue anymore than he get himself to straighten his back and offer Sophia a cup of tea.

"A week, Liam," Sophia says quietly. "We haven't spoken in a week. I had to find out from my little sister that you'd apparently made a fool of yourself on twitter, and then when I try and ring you, there's no answer. Meanwhile, I'm hearing things from Perrie about how you and Zayn and the lads have apparently been together on the daily. How am I meant to feel about that?"

There isn't an ounce of inflection in her voice. It's simply flat, indifferent, like she's already made up her mind about how she feels. Within seconds, a switch has been flipped inside of Liam, and he's reaching out, fingers grasping at empty air. "Sophia-"

"No, stop." She holds up a hand and closes her eyes as though steeling herself. Liam's hand drops uselessly back to his side. "I'd've been fine if this hadn't come completely out of nowhere. I thought we were doing well, really well-" she pauses as her voice cracks to take a deep breath, then continues. "Maybe if I'd've seen it coming, it wouldn't have mattered as much. We were together a week ago, Liam! At that basketball game, and you just seemed so bloody happy, it was contagious. _I_ felt happy. Now look at what we have left."

 _Nothing,_ Liam thinks, _there's nothing._ But he tries anyway. "I've just been out of it, so out of it. I've not been myself. Please, we can talk about this, I don't want..."

"I don't care much for what you want at this point," Sophia replies coldly.

And Liam deflates.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sophia is silent. Her head tips to one side, then the other, as she rolls her shoulders back and then fixes him with a blank look.

“No, you’re not.” Her coat is back on already, and if she didn’t appear so eerily calm, Liam could imagine her strangling him with her scarf as she places it around her neck. “Goodbye, Liam.”

The door closes on a gust of stale hall air and relief.

**January 25 th, 2014**

“Why isn’t Louis answering his phone?”

Zayn frowns but doesn’t lift his eyes from his own mobile. “I haven’t heard from Li since we saw him the other day, either. This is like, my fifth text to him.”

Niall wanders over and nudges Zayn’s calf with his foot, causing him to finally glance up. They eye each other warily.

“D’you think—”

Zayn stands abruptly from the couch, and Niall’s mouth closes. He takes one look at Niall’s healing leg, then at his face, and then at the door, as though considering something. He seems to make up his mind quickly.

“Let’s go.”

They try Louis’ first. Zayn repeatedly tries the buzzer without any success, and then they proceed to call out Louis’ name. When Niall presses his ear to the door, the flat seems disturbingly quiet.

“He’s gone,” Niall states.

No words are exchanged as they make their way to Liam’s.

As Zayn knocks gently at the door, Niall has little hope. Wherever Louis’ run off too, there’s a fair chance that Liam is with him, and if they don’t want to be contacted, well. That’s that, then. The worst part is that Niall has no clue what’s happened over the course of the past forty-eight hours to have elicited the disappearance, and that bothers him. He’d thought Liam was doing better—not well, necessarily, but better—and Louis hadn’t seemed any worse for wear, despite everything with Eleanor. If things had gotten so bad that the two of them had to up and run off to get away from everything, then what kind of friend does that make Niall, for not having recognized it?

“Nialler.” Zayn prods him lightly with his elbow, and Niall startles out of his thoughts. “Quit it. We’ll figure things out.”

The door opens just as Zayn finishes speaking, and Niall nearly weeps with relief. Liam stands with one hand on the doorframe and blinks out at them as though it’s the first time he’s peered outside in days (which, Niall thinks, is a possibility). He doesn’t seem too sullen. More tired, if anything—there are dark circles beneath his eyes, and his white t-shirt is rumpled, but he smiles when he sees them, small and genuine.

“I was gonna call you lads today, I swear,” he greets, and Zayn shoves him gently in the chest until Liam steps aside and allows them to enter the flat.

“Well, since Lou’s dropped off the face of the earth, y’can’t blame us for worrying,” Zayn replies. A crease appears between Liam’s eyebrows at that, and he shoots a look at Niall in question.

“He’s not answering his mobile?”

Niall shakes his head. “Nothin’ for two days now, and his flat’s empty. We just checked.”

Liam runs a palm across the top of his head, and Niall watches the movement of his chest as he exhales a long breath. “Well, shit.”

“Basically,” Zayn agrees.

**January 24 th, 2014**

The empty conference table seems to mock him. Only minutes ago, and it had been filled with people, but now Harry sits alone, hunched over with his head resting on his hands. His fingers find the matted curls that are attached to his scalp, and he grips at them anxiously, his mobile resting in his lap.

The words _you could go so far_ are stuck on a loop in his mind, repeating over and over again. They cause a wad of bile to form at the back of Harry’s throat.

He only wants to “go far” so long as his boys are at his side, but how is he supposed to explain that to these people?

His hands fall to his thighs and he picks up his phone. _I hate America,_ he texts Grimmy.

 _But Ryan Gosling,_ is the message he receives in response, and it hardly even gets Harry to muster up a smile.

He wants to call Louis. _Needs_ to call Louis, the urge sudden and all-encompassing. Everything with Louis has always been that way—relentless. Inevitable, unstoppable no matter how hard Harry tries. Though he’s never really wanted to stop it, not genuinely, and isn’t that the best part?

He’s just a ship that’s eternally set to follow its compass, the anchor tethered to a rope that will never, ever break.

“Hullo, you’ve reached Louis. I’m not in right now—”

Harry hangs up to the monotonous sound of Louis’ voicemail greeting, silently waiting for his ship to wreck itself on rocky shores and meet its impending demise.

**January 25 th, 2014**

It’s late. Liam can see the lights of the houses below as they flick off one by one, the evening growing quiet and still. Niall is passed out in the armchair, wrapped in a throw blanket and snoring softly as his drool trickles down onto the fabric. Meanwhile, Zayn is spread out next to Liam on the sofa, his thigh pressed tight against Liam’s own. It’s a reassuring warmth, one that steadies him, and Liam drops his chin to tuck it against his chest as the telly chatters away in front of them.

A moment later, he feels the tips of Zayn’s fingers skate along the back of his neck, and Liam turns sideways so that he can rest his cheek against Zayn’s shoulder.

“What happened?” Zayn asks quietly.

Liam’s mouth presses into a thin line. He reaches out and clutches at Zayn’s shirt, needing that steadying warmth more than ever. His palm seeks out the _thump-thump_ of his bandmate’s heartbeat, and the sudden tension in his shoulders seeps away just as quickly as it came.

Her name is heavy on his tongue.

“Sophia.”

Zayn thumbs at his nape, his fingers tracing upwards along the back of Liam’s scalp.

“Y’alright?” he inquires. Honest, simple. Liam is painfully grateful to have someone like Zayn.

He nods.

“I am,” he affirms, and it feels like the truth. It feels good to say the words, to give himself that kind of confirmation. After the whirlwind that has been the past month, he thinks he’s finally starting to become okay again. He’s a step closer to becoming _himself_ again.

Harry’s words from their phone call echo inside his mind. _I just have to come to accept the change and have faith that things'll work themselves out. I reckon they generally do._

“Y’know,” Zayn voices, “it’s a bit funny, all of this. We’re supposed t’be on a break, yet here we are, dealing with more shit than we do when we’re working. Ironic, innit?”

“Maybe we should just tour three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Avoid all this drama,” Liam suggests, his mouth tipping up when Zayn lets out a tired sounding chuckle.

“Tonight at Madison Square Garden: Watch the five lads of One Direction pass out from sheer exhaustion!”

For some reason, the imagine has a sharp laugh escaping Liam’s lips, and he claps his free hand over his mouth when Niall grunts and shifts on the armchair. Zayn is smiling over at him, that tiny, fond grin that only appears in stolen moments like these. Liam wants to wrap the sight up and pocket it forever.

**January 26 th, 2014**

_1 missed call from: Harry_

There are at least fifteen other calls listed along with it, the majority of which are from Niall, Zayn, and Liam. Louis sighs and runs a palm along the side of his face. He knows he shouldn’t have checked his phone. He bloody knows, yet here he is, torn between shoving the device back down into the furthest recesses of his bag and calling them to tell them everything—about Eleanor, the trip, the past few weeks, all of it.

But Louis is the king of avoidance, and he isn’t in the mood to deal with anything right now. He just isn’t.

He and Eleanor have managed to be civil, at least, but that doesn’t make the trip any more bearable. Having to smile and laugh and fall all over each other out on the slopes leaves a foul taste in his mouth when he remembers just how contrived the entire thing is.

Tomorrow, though, he can leave. That’s all that matters. One more night and he’ll be back in London, where he’ll have to handle the repercussions that accompany his ignoring the rest of the band, but even that is better than whatever this ridiculous trip is. It’s so ridiculous that Louis almost can’t imagine telling the boys about it. _Management forced me to go on vacation with Eleanor to promote the image that we aren’t broken up yet—_ the bottom line is that they didn’t force him; he agreed to go. And he can’t see that sitting well with any of the others, after all of the shit that management has put them through.

His thumb hovers over Harry’s name in his contact list, and he swallows thickly. Just a flex of his finger, and he’d be able to hear Harry’s voice, despite him being halfway across the world. Louis is so, so close to doing it, damn it all, but he stops himself at the last available second. He’s afraid that if he says so much as one word to Harry, everything else will come tumbling straight out.

**January 27 th, 2014**

It’s past noon when Louis shows up, hood pulled up to shield him from the drizzle outside. Zayn stares at him for a beat, but then pulls him into Liam’s flat without so much as a question, his fingers curling purposefully around Louis’ forearm. He tucks his mouth up in what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“So you are alive,” he comments.

Louis shrugs, tugging his hood down. “More or less.”

“Is that Tommo I hear?” Liam calls out from the kitchen. Zayn hums out an affirmative and follows his voice into the kitchen, Louis hot on his heels. Niall is seated up on the counter, munching away on a sausage, and Zayn knocks him on his good knee with a fist as he passes.

“Louis!” Niall says around his mouthful. “I thought maybe the sharks had snatched you up or summat.”

“If by ‘sharks,’ you mean management, then that’s exactly what happened,” Louis mutters as he drops into a chair at the table situated near the window. Zayn peers over at Liam, who’s paused mid-washing up to furrow his brows in Louis’ direction. The flat has gone strangely quiet, Niall’s fork clanking against his plate the only sound to be heard apart from their breathing.

“They did it to you, too. Like what happened with me and Dani,” Liam finally clarifies, and Louis nods.

“I don’t recall my contract saying that I’m not allowed to legitimately break up with my girlfriend,” he adds, “but apparently it was in the fine print.”

They all fall silent again, until Niall inhales noisily and then says, “ _arseholes._ ”

Zayn slants a look his direction that’s supposed to signify _that isn’t helping,_ but Louis interrupts his plans with a sharp laugh—a laugh that doesn’t stop. Soon, Louis is doubled over, hysterical, and Niall is joining in, while Zayn stares at them in shock. Liam, to his credit, just looks confused.

“Fucking—management,” Louis eventually gasps out. “This has literally been the worst month of my entire life. Why—the fuck—am I laughing?”

“Coping mechanism?” Liam suggests weakly.

Niall, who has collapsed into a heap in his spot on the counter, speaks between hiccupped giggles. “It is kind of funny, how much the world hates us and loves us at the same time, dontcha think?”

“Not really,” Zayn mumbles, but they all ignore him. Liam frowns at Louis and Zayn for a moment longer before returning his attention to the dishes in the sink.

“Crazy,” Zayn hears him grumble, “you lot are all crazy.”

“You know what the most hilarious part is?” Louis erupts suddenly. “Harry hasn’t even been here. He hasn’t had to deal with any of this.”

All at once, Niall isn’t laughing anymore. Setting his plate carefully onto the counter beside him, he almost seems a bit put-out, if his long sigh is anything to go by. “C’mon, Lou, he’s got his own stuff to deal with, too.”

And Zayn definitely isn’t ready to interfere in whatever _this_ is, whatever’s caused Louis’ passive aggressive tone and raised shoulders. The sound of dishes clanking together reaches his ears, and he glances at Liam, whose back is hunched, a signal that he doesn’t want any part in this, either.

“Stuff in Los Angeles? For an entire month?” Louis scoffs. “Don’t play dumb, Niall. We all know exactly what ‘stuff’ he’s preoccupied with out there, big record execs and fake girlfriends—”

He pauses mid-sentence when Liam abruptly whirls around, his expression of confusion having been replaced with something cold and foreign. Zayn nearly does a double-take, because he isn’t sure he’s ever seen Liam look so angry. Not once. “Shut up, Tommo.”

His tone is ice cold, hard like steel, and his eyebrows have pulled down, so low over his narrowed eyes that only two dark slits can be seen. It’s _scary,_ is what it is. Zayn feels as though maybe he should touch a hand to Liam’s shoulder, gently steer him out of the room to diffuse the tension, but before he can, Louis is retaliating, pushing his way up into Liam’s space.

“No, I’m not going to ‘shut up,’ Liam!” He shouts suddenly. “Harry’s fucking abandoned us. He’s probably never coming back here to piss-poor London because he’s too busy schmoozing with all his new _buddies_ in _America._ He’s driven off and left us standing in the dust, and you’re all too blind to see it!”

“ _Louis,_ ” Niall pleads quietly. “Quit it.”

Liam’s voice cuts in again, if anything even sharper than before. “You better fucking listen here, mate,” he begins, straightening up to his full height until he practically towers over Louis. “You’ve been avoiding Haz all month, and you’ve got _no clue_ what state you’ve left him in. I haven’t any idea what happened between you two, but you’d best shut your mouth, because the bottom line is that you don’t know what’s going on with Harry. You haven’t listened to him long enough to find out.”

“Don’t turn this around on me,” Louis spits.

“You may not want to hear it, Tommo, but it’s about time you do,” Liam growls. “Whatever’s going on with Harry, you’re part of the reason for it, and you know it. _That’s_ why you’re acting so bitter.”

“I’m not bitter!” Louis tosses his hands up in the air, nearly catching Liam straight in the nose as he spins around and begins to pace the short length of the kitchen. “I’m tired, Liam. I’m tired of being forced to pretend. I’m tired of pretending even when I don’t have to just because reality is so terrifying! Nothing is certain anymore. And I _hate_ that.” He comes to a halt in front of Zayn, who has taken up the space of the doorway, as far away from the conflict as he can be without fleeing. When Louis finds his eyes, it’s like something’s pummeled straight into Zayn’s stomach. He looks so pained, so conflicted, that Zayn suddenly aches with the urge to fix all of this, to fix everything and bring back the crazy, babbling Louis that he’s grown accustomed to over the past three years.

“I either love him or hate him. I just don’t know which anymore,” Louis finishes. His voice cracks as he forces out the words, and Zayn is prepared to catch him as he slouches forward, all of the fight draining from his body. His arms wrap around Louis’ shoulders, steadying him, while across the kitchen, Liam sinks to the floor. He sits with his back to the refrigerator, Niall’s feet dangling beside his head as Liam buries it in his knees. A silence envelops them all, and Zayn can feel Louis’ chest heaving against his own as he attempts to calm his breathing.

“I just want him to come home,” he finally whispers. Zayn can feel the movement of his mouth against his collarbone, through the fabric of his shirt, and the words draw Zayn’s fingers to find their way into Louis’ fringe. They scratch gently, soothingly, as Zayn stares out blindly past the side of Louis’ head.

“We all do, Lou,” he murmurs. “We all do.”

**January 31 st, 2014**

A stack of papers sits on the desk in the corner of his hotel room, untouched.

Harry has contemplated burning them, or perhaps tossing them off his balcony so that the Santa Ana winds can carry them off into the desert. In the end, though, he’s done nothing but leave them be. They aren’t worth an ounce of his time, not even the time it would take to destroy them.

He glances at the clock on his phone and mentally does the math. It should be just after 7 PM back home. If Harry can catch a flight out this afternoon, he can be back before lunchtime tomorrow, London time.

The conversation with management had gone better than expected, and somehow, he’d gotten them to approve everything. Now, he pulls up Grimmy’s contact on his phone and quickly types out the words before he can second-guess himself.

_Need a favor, can you spare a few minutes of your show in the AM?_

The next thing he does is pull up his web browser and purchase a one-way ticket to Heathrow.

**January 27 th, 2014**

London never sleeps, Niall thinks. The lights of the buildings surrounding him still flash starkly against the night sky, the rumble of car engines audible even in this more quiet neighborhood. He and Zayn had left Liam’s around ten, after a long afternoon of hushed conversation and reconciling. Louis had opted to stay at Liam’s— _we need to talk this out,_ he’d decided—so now Niall and Zayn are alone, meandering down darkened back streets on the way to Niall’s.

The air is frigid, biting against Niall’s cheeks and stinging his eyes, but he welcomes the sensation. It anchors him, tethers him right down here in reality, with his hands tucked into his coat pockets and Zayn a solid line at his side. Neither of them speaks. Zayn has a cigarette poking out the side of his mouth that he takes a puff from occasionally, and the tip glows gently in the night, warm and flickering. Despite the chill, and the tiring events of the day, Niall feels comfortable, secure in this place and in this moment.

Eventually, they round the corner to Niall’s street, and Zayn drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it underfoot. Niall pauses and watches as Zayn wraps his arms around his torso and tips his head back to peer up at the sky. His profile is lit halfway by the streetlight behind them, and it gives him a sort of ethereal glow. Zayn’s always had a sort of beauty about him that exceeds that of the average person—Niall won’t deny the obvious—but his good looks seem even more inhuman in the slivers of light that hit the side of his face. Niall finds himself caught staring, drawn to the thoughtful expression that has crossed Zayn’s features.

“I was sure Liam was about to give Louis a good beating today,” he comments softly, still glancing upwards instead of at Niall. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.”

Niall scuffs his toe against the cement. “You and me both, mate. It was a bit scary, to be honest.”

When he looks over again, Zayn’s got his lip pulled into his mouth, and a crease has formed between his eyebrows. He seems tired all of a sudden, resigned, and Niall wants to smooth the wrinkles from his forehead. “Do you ever wonder, like, if this is it? That today, or another day, will be the day that one of us lads finally cracks, and this’ll all be over. It’ll be the end of One Direction.”

It takes a long moment for Niall to find his words. Eventually, he says, “I thought that when you didn’t show up that first day in McDonald’s. I thought it when Liam broke up with Danielle. I thought it when management cracked down on Harry and Louis. I have that thought a lot more than I’d like to admit,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck before continuing. “But somehow we always pull through. It still scares the bloody hell out of me, of course it does. I’ve just learned by now that what we have is a lot stronger than any of us give it credit for, y’know?”

Somewhere down the road behind them, a car alarm bursts to life, but Niall is so focused on the intense look Zayn is giving him that he hardly notices it. It’s almost like the two of them have been confined into their own little bubble, out here in the middle of the street somewhere in downtown London. It’s like they’re invincible. Like nothing can shatter whatever shell is sealing them in.

“You know what else scares me?” Zayn asks suddenly. In the span of a second, he has closed the few steps between them and is knocking his knuckles lightly against Niall’s chest, right above his heart. “That does. Whatever it is that ties the five of us together. Because whatever it is, it’s so...unbreakable, so all-consuming, that sometimes I wonder if I’ve even got any room left to love anyone else.”

When they’d walked out of Liam’s flat, Niall hadn’t been expecting anything more than a brisk walk home and maybe some FIFA before they passed out. And yet, now they’re here, a few doors down from his own flat, with Zayn doing something he rarely ever does: be open about how he’s feeling. Niall isn’t sure what to do with it. The moment feels precious, every word particular and _important,_ and he wants to cradle each one between his palms. As it is, he can’t even formulate a response; what can he say to that, to Zayn, who is supposed to be getting married to a woman he “loves” in a matter of months? What can he say to express that it’s the same for him, and probably for all the rest of the lads as well?

He ends up not having to say anything at all. Zayn saves him with a lopsided smile, one just for Niall, before he wraps his fingers around Niall’s wrist and pulls him the rest of the way towards the flat in silence. They fall asleep in Niall’s bed just like that, facing each other and with their hands interlocked.

**January 28 th, 2014**

Liam is awake and puttering around in the kitchen when Louis finally drags himself out of bed at half past eleven. He’s still groggy, despite getting twelve-plus hours of sleep, and it probably shows. His eyes feel sore and bloodshot, his limbs achy, and if the placating smile Liam gives him is anything to go by, he’s guessing he looks like utter shit.

“Tea,” he croaks.

Liam nods to his left. “Poured you a cuppa once I heard you moving around.”

Louis makes a contented noise in his throat and eagerly picks up his mug. He loves Liam. Liam is his favorite.

“You’re my favorite,” he states.

“Sure, about twenty-five percent of the time.”

Louis shrugs and sips at his tea. It’s made just the way he likes it, because Liam is stupidly considerate like that. He thinks that it might also be Liam still trying to make up for yesterday, which, that was just as much Louis as it had been Liam, and Louis doesn’t like that Liam is still beating himself up over it.

“I promise I won’t scream in your face again today,” he concedes.

The corner of Liam’s mouth quirks up, and although he looks completely exhausted, it’s still a smile. The hint of one, anyway. “We’re all good, Tommo. Drink your tea.”

For once, Louis decides not to argue (but only because the tea really is quite nice). He sips quietly at his mug and watches Liam chew thoughtfully around a mouthful of Wheetabix, his gaze fixed on the cupboards opposite them.

“I still think we should do something for Harry’s birthday,” he says after he swallows.

Louis blinks once, then twice, the edges of his mouth curling downwards of their own accord. “We don’t even know if he’ll be back in time,” he replies quietly.

“Then we’ll go to him,” Liam answers decisively. He places his bowl in the sink and turns to Louis. “I’m not kidding, Lou. We can’t keep goin’ on like this. If we really want him back, we’ve gotta show him we do, yeah?”

And it kills him to admit it, but Liam has a point. The radio silence has probably led Harry to assume that they’re just fine without him—Louis hadn’t even thought about it like that. Here, he’s been thinking that Harry’s decided to go off on his own, when maybe he’d only done it because he’d thought it was his only option.

**February 1 st, 2014**

At 7:22 AM, Liam’s mobile rings.

“Li,” Zayn greets him as soon as Liam’s pressed the green button, fumbling to sit up in bed. “Radio One. Turn it on.”

“What?” Liam scrubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes and reaches over to his clock radio, fiddling with the dial. “Wha’s going on? Something happen?”

“Just do it,” Zayn urges, but Liam’s already half-tuned out as his attention centers in on the sound of Nick Grimshaw’s voice coming from the tiny speaker. He’s too disoriented to wonder what Zayn is even doing awake early enough to catch the Breakfast Show. All of his thoughts have been redirected, and Liam finds himself turning to crank up the volume on the radio, his heart stuttering to a halt in his chest.

“...so yes, here we have it—and please don’t ask me _how_ we have it, apparently popstardom draws people to have crazy, last-minute plans—it’s the worldwide radio premiere of _Don’t Forget Where You Belong_ from that terribly dressed boy band, One Direction. Oh, and happy birthday, Styles.”

The opening piano riff has Liam’s eyes burning something fierce, and he has to shove his fist into his mouth to cut off the startled sound that threatens to escape him. His cheeks are wet, he realizes belatedly, and his stomach is a jumbled mess, threatening to crawl up the length of his throat. It’s unbelievable, it’s painful, it’s heartbreaking, and it’s _wonderful._ He hears the lyrics and all he can think is—

“ _Harry,_ ” he chokes out.

The noise Zayn makes sounds like it’s supposed to be a laugh, but it’s half-mangled, more of a relieved sounding sob. When his voices comes through the line, he sounds so fucking _pleased_ , and Liam swears his heart is about to burst. “Yeah, mate. I know.”

**January 30 th, 2014**

Two days after his talk with Liam, Louis decides to suck it up and call Harry.

The phone sounds for so long that Louis is sure he isn’t going to pick up, and by the tenth ring, his finger is hovering over the ‘end call’ button. It’s then that he abruptly hears Harry’s voice, tinny and rasping thanks to his mobile, but there nonetheless.

“Lou?”

Hesitantly, Louis raises the device back to his ear and blows out a steadying breath.

“Harry,” he says cordially.

“I—wow. This is the last thing I was expecting,” Harry laughs, but it’s stilted and forced, and Louis has to turn and press his forehead against the wall in order to reign in his frustration. _Nothing_ with Harry has ever been difficult, and now that it is, Louis only has himself to blame.

“I think...this talk’s been a long time coming,” he answers finally.

On the other end of the line, Harry has fallen silent.

“I didn’t leave you,” he whispers eventually. “I’d never.”

“If you had, I would have deserved it,” Louis replies quietly.

For all of the times that Louis had bolted off, terrified for his image, or his reputation, or for all of the times that he’d forced them to hide, forced _Harry_ to hide—because every single time, no matter what, Harry had stayed. He never let it get to him, never strayed from Louis’ side, even when he was being the biggest twat on the face of the planet. An anchor, connected by a rope. Never making a move to cut the rope, even when Louis’ compass steered his ship in the wrong direction.

“That isn’t true,” Harry protests. “I understand it all, Lou. I do. I always have. I’m never going to hold any of it against you, even if you choose to hold this against _me._ I just—couldn’t.” He pauses, and Louis can hear him inhale a breath. Sucking in a lungful of air, he does the same, matching the rhythm of his chest to Harry’s the best he can. “I can’t see myself ever being angry with you. It’s not worth it. What we have is more important than that. It’s _worth_ so much more.”

“Haz—” Louis stops. The nickname feels foreign on his tongue, and the fact that it does almost makes him sick to his stomach.

“I’m not asking for anything,” Harry interrupts. “I’m only saying it because it’s true. _You_ know it’s true. I think that’s part of the reason I left. I was hoping maybe you’d, well...maybe you’d figure it out. And you did, I think. I mean, you called me, right?”

Harry’s voice is gentle, yet so full of hope. A show of tenderness that’s reserved for Louis alone.

Silently, Louis thinks, _I love you._

Aloud, he responds, “yeah, I did.”

**February 1 st, 2014**

Niall is the one to open the door.

He takes a single look at Harry and his entire face splits open on a grin.

“ _Lads!_ ” he yells. “Y’might wanna get in here.”

A storm of footsteps sounds then, echoing their way into the entry hall of Liam’s flat. Three sets of footsteps, to be exact—and then there is a holler, and Zayn is calling his name, and Harry goes down flailing as the four of them crush him into a giant hug.

“You _tosser,_ ” Niall shouts as they separate.

Liam ruffles Harry’s hair before proceeding to punch him in the stomach, though not enough to hurt. “It’s your birthday, we were supposed to surprise _you._ ”

Harry laughs, feeling lighter than he has in over four weeks. Zayn is practically beaming at him, smiling wider than Harry’s seen since they first made it through Judge’s Houses, and Louis is—well.

His hair is ruffled from the ruckus, but his eyes are bright and his skin is glowing and he’s smiling, and Harry instinctively knows that everything is going to be okay.

He swings his arms around Niall to his left and Zayn on his right, and the rest of them mimic the gesture until they’ve all formed a tight huddle, the five of them, linked together, their own little world away from the troubles of the outside one.

 “All I wanted for my birthday was to be home,” he finally says, “and here I am.”

_You are never on your own_

_and the proof is in this song._


End file.
